


New Growth

by Porsennasaurus



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 03:52:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12696771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porsennasaurus/pseuds/Porsennasaurus
Summary: Sometimes mysteries don't have answers...but sometimes they do.





	New Growth

“Celeborn, we don’t have time-”

“You don’t understand, Galadriel, and that is alright.” her husband said, just as diplomatic, infuriating and foreign to her as he had been since he first said that to her, the day they first met. Exhaustion wavered in his eyes and voice like heat-haze over water.

No, she wanted to say. How could he say that to her, he who knew her? She had never been able to leave a mystery unexplored, no matter how much she would dislike the answer, and couldn’t understand his ability to do so. But his diplomacy she had learned in some part, and so did not respond. For now.

They were leading the survivors of Doriath away from ruined Menegroth, and although Galadriel had argued vehemently that they should flee to Sirion with all haste, Celeborn had diverted their group deep into the forest. Twice already they had narrowly escaped bands of Maedhros’ men; it was only because of just how few survivors there were that they had escaped their notice.

Celeborn continued, disappearing among the trees ahead. Shortly he called back to the group that he had found it.

Naturally curious, she entered the clearing at the head of the group, finding her husband standing beside an enormous, ancient stump.

Without a word, Oropher and Amdir moved forward to stand before him, each holding the hand of a little silver-haired boy, young enough to still be toddling.

Galadriel tried to speak, to ask a question, but the quality of the stillness falling over the glade made the idea of breaking the silence seem sacrilegious. The trees grew together so thickly overhead that it was like the sun didn’t exist; they bent so close to the earth that she almost imagined they were listening.

Solemnly, Celeborn drew his knife. He cut his right palm and sprinkled the blood over the surface of the stump, and then turned to the little boy by Oropher’s side.

“Once, you were Elurin.”

He offered the knife hilt-first to Oropher, who stepped forward, took it and knelt. Cutting his own palm and the child’s, he pressed their hands together, mixing their blood. Oropher then stood, and raised the child aloft, saying “You are now Thranduil, and are my son.”

Celeborn now took the knife back. He cut his left palm and sprinkled the blood over the surface of the stump, and then turned to the little boy by Amdir’s side.

“Once, you were Elured.”

Celeborn now handed the knife to Amdir, who repeated Oropher’s actions. Holding the second child aloft, he announced him, saying “You are now Amroth, and are my son.”

Celeborn now spoke again. “The forest has now claimed Elurin and Elured, but as new shoots grow from a felled tree, they will find new life as Thranduil and Amroth. As the loss of my blood to the forest will encourage new growth, so I do renounce my kinship to them and allow them to grow anew."

Celeborn stepped away from the stump, wiping the blood from his knife. His expression as the little boys left him behind to be welcomed by the congregation was something Galadriel never wanted to see again; such a mix of utter grief and grim, hopeless determination. He raised his eyes from the ageless stump, its ancient spatter of bloodstains and its tiny green shoots, to meet hers.

“Has it become clear now, Galadriel?”


End file.
